


Laundromat

by AmuMcRobot



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek gets hit on, Isaac is a shithead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2213046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmuMcRobot/pseuds/AmuMcRobot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek gets hit on in a laundromat; Isaac is a shit about it; no one is happy about anything that happens, really.</p><p>Part of the Firsts universe, which is not yet uploaded but is in the works</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laundromat

Derek gets it, okay? He is fully aware that he's done some shitty things. He sexually coerced Erica into becoming a werewolf; he hit Stiles way more than was necessary; he got his entire family burned to death; he killed his own uncle and then helped kill him a second time. He deserves some bad stuff--like his washer and dryer both breaking in the same week. He accepts his punishment with grace and poise and humility and goes to the laundromat because, well, it'll only take a couple of hours, and he was gonna help Isaac with some job applications for college anyway. Kid wanted to be a barista. Says it would help him "get into the groove of college," whatever the hell that means.

So he brings Isaac with him to the laundromat, sorts through their laundry, and puts four loads into four washers. He's just beginning to feed quarters to the machine when he hears Isaac's fingers stop typing and then unfamiliar footsteps are walking right up to Derek. The building smells so bad he hadn't even noticed that someone else was in the same goddamn room.

"Hi," the stranger says, and Derek turns to him. He's a good four inches shorter than Derek, but he's cute, objectively. Sandy hair, bright blue eyes, kind of looks like Chris Argent's younger brother, in a way. Only, he doesn't smell like anything dangerous--no wolfsbane or symbolic silver or gunpowder. So Derek nods, says hi, and goes to turn back to the washer. It is, Derek thinks, an obvious dismissal.

"You here alone?" the guy asks. His voice is deep and kind of husky, like maybe he used to be a smoker.

"No, I'm here with a friend," Derek says pointedly, gesturing with one hand towards Isaac, who still isn't typing, but instead is watching the goings on with wide eyes and a tilt to his mouth that looks like he's about a minute away from breaking out into laughter.

"Just a friend?" the guy asks. "I'm Paul."

"Yeah, just a friend," Derek says. He puts more coins into the washer, pushes in the lever, and moves to the next washer, which unfortunately means he has to walk towards Paul.

"What's your name?" Paul asks. And he's got to be the most thickheaded person Derek has ever come into contact with, which is saying a lot. He spent five years in fucking New York, okay?

"His name is Derek," Isaac helpfully supplies from across the room. He's full out grinning now. Derek wishes he could beat the smugness out of him under the guise of training, like he can to the other wolves. But he knows Isaac, knows Isaac can't take it, mentally. So he promises to make Isaac fold the laundry and cook dinner and maybe he'll track mud into Isaac's room as payback.

"Well, Derek, I forgot to bring a book or anything else to do while my laundry's busy, so I was wondering--"

"No," Derek cuts him off. Because really, he doesn't care what the guy is about to say. No, he can't talk to Derek. No, Derek doesn't have a book to lend him. No, Derek doesn't want to play cards. Honestly, he doesn't want to be there at all, getting the smells of strangers into his clothes from sharing a public washer and dryer, sitting for hours in uncomfortable too-small plastic chairs and counting the minutes while Isaac tells him about how serving assholes coffee will make him a better adult.

"I was just going to ask if you want to fool around in the bathroom a bit," Paul says, easy as anything, shrugging. He's a guy Derek might try to pick up if Derek were at a bar, where it is normal to try to pick people up.

"Absolutely not," Derek says. He moves on to his third washer.

"You don't even have to touch me," Paul continues, like he's deaf to Derek's voice. "I just want to get my hands on your dick, just a little."

Derek slams the coins into the washer too hard, and the whole washer moves with it. Nothing breaks, so he ignores it. He turns to face Paul directly and lets his fangs grow just a little bit, enough that it just looks like his teeth are extra pointy, but still human.

"Stop bugging me."

"I like 'em big and bulky," Paul says. He's reaching for Derek's biceps, curling his fingers around them, touching Derek like he has any right.

"If you think I'm big, you should meet my boyfriend," Derek says. He tried to be a little bit nice, save the guy some dignity, whatever dignity a guy who hits on people in laundromats could have, anyway. "He's bigger. Stronger. And meaner." He lets the last word devolve into a growl. He wants to let his eyes glow red, just for a second, but who the fuck knows, maybe this guy is actually related to Argent. He's just as ridiculous as Gerard ever was.

"No one has to know but us and Curly over there," Paul says. His hands, somehow, are still on Derek.

Derek pulls Paul's hands off him with some extra strength, squeezes the fingers together just painful enough to feel threatening. "If you ever touch me again, I promise you you'll regret it. Last guy who I came home smelling like is now buried somewhere under cement."

Paul's eyes widen, and it takes Derek a second to realize it's not only his words. His eyes are glowing and his nails have grown just enough to prick the skin on the backs of Paul's hands. He's not drawing blood, but there will probably be small scabs over the deep indents of his nails. Derek lets go like he's been burned, but Paul just stares at him, his mouth agape, and then he starts to cry.

"I'm so sorry, please don't hurt me." He's already blubbering, snotty and grosser than the gross sleaziness of literally ten seconds ago. "Are you a demon? Please don't drag me to hell. I'm too young to die. I swear I learned my lesson, Demon."

Derek gets it. He's a bad person. He has done awful things. But he's positive that he has done nothing so bad as to warrent this shitshow. Paul is crumpling down onto his knees, sobbing, and Derek now has to do something about it. Somehow convince him he's not a fucking demon of all goddamn things.

Isaac is laughing, too quiet for Paul to hear, but Derek can hear it just fucking fine. He sends a red-eyed glare at Isaac that only stops him so much.

"I'm not a demon," Derek says. He pulls Paul back to his feet. "I'm not going to hurt you. Just leave me the fuck alone. Go to a fucking club if you want to give someone a goddamn handjob in public, you neanderthal."

Isaac's answering laugh is delighted. Paul is still crying but he's nodding along. Derek can tell he doesn't believe him, but he's taking the out, thank Christ. Derek lets go of Paul's shoulders where he had pulled him up and Paul bolts. Just sprints as fast as he can out of the laundromat. His clothes are still in the washer, but Derek assumes he'll come back for them. He moves on to his last machine, fills it with coins, and then lets himself fall into the chair next to Isaac.

"I'm going to kill you," Derek says to Isaac's laughing shoulders and guffaws. Kid's an ugly laugher. Derek likes that he knows that about him. "I'm going to let Lydia practice her magic on you."

"Sure thing, Lucifer," Isaac says. "How many times do you think I'd have to call you Lucy before the others joined in?"

"Tell anyone about this and you'll be going to Stanford without arms."

Isaac laughs all the way through the wash cycle and an application to a coffee shop on campus.

Probably the worst part is that Isaac gets the job.


End file.
